Chapter 1

    "So, Scarlett," Tanya yelled, over the thud-thud of the music at Fork, one of the hippest and most deafening bistros in Soho. "Are you having an affair with Mr. Hemorrhoid yet?"
    Snapping a breadstick in half, she threw me a withering glance.
For one wild, desperate moment, I was tempted to pretend I hadn‘t heard the question, but one look at the way she was gnashing at her breadstick told me I‘d worn her patience paper thin, and that I owed her an answer.
    "Well, are you?" she said, spraying crumbs all over the sleeve of my jacket.
    Tanya had been encouraging me to take the plunge with Mr. Hemorrhoid for ages, and I couldn‘t help feeling, in some perverse way, that by failing to snag him, I‘d somehow let her down. After all, she‘d put so much effort into the project, offered so many tips on office seduction. Like advising me to 'accidentally‘ spill a glass of water down my shirt, the view of my bra apparently rendering me immediately irresistible to Mr. Hemorrhoid. She‘d also demonstrated exactly how to suck on a pen while you were in a meeting, in a seductive  yet screamingly sensual way, which, she claimed, would have any man eating out of your hand.
    The reason Mr. Hemorrhoid was not responding to her master plan remained something of a mystery. Against my better nature, I‘d followed her advice, sucking pens, soaking my shirt and engaging in other acts of total idiocy. And while I was pretty sure Mr. Hemorrhoid had been quite intrigued by my shenanigans—he‘d stared at my wet chest with keen interest, for example—the net result was that he had not invited me to a hotel for a lunch hour‘s worth of frantic sex. In fact, I‘m ashamed to admit that not one licentious conversation has ever taken place between us. Go figure.
    I brushed the crumbs slowly from my sleeve, stalling for time. Taking a sip of chilled Chablis, I tried to make light of the situation.
    "It‘s actually quite difficult to have an affair, when the object of your affections hasn‘t even asked you out yet."
Tanya rolled her big blue eyes. "How long is it since he‘s been working at Zanorax? Eighteen months? This isn‘t the nineteen fifties, you know. You can ask him out."
    I circled my finger round the rim of my glass. "I don‘t know. I can‘t get up the courage somehow. Besides, I‘m beginning to think he‘s got something that‘s pretty rare these days."
    "What? You mean syphilis?" Tanya said, screwing up her face in concern.
    "No, worse than that. Morals."
    Tanya tutted disapprovingly. She placed her hand reassuringly on my arm. "So you‘re married. You have a kid. So what? You‘re just suggesting a roll in the hay, not haring off to Vegas for an Elvis wedding. I think you need this. It‘ll perk you up no end."
She leaned back in her chair, her expression suddenly stern. "Just ask him. And if you don‘t, I‘ll do it for you."